Another One Bites The Dust

Asher had always had anger issues. He was unreasonable and had a quick temper. At times, if he was really riled up, he would lose himself in rage.

Through continuous therapy since he entered secondary school, this problem became a lot more manageable, yet still prevailed in significant amount.

The problem was even intensified as he went to a school of the upper class - his parents were both important figures in the government and he their only child.

One afternoon, after classes, Asher was quite irritated. He had stayed up very late last night, trying to reach the highest rank in his favourite video game. However, not only did he not rank up, he lost almost every game and even de-ranked twice!

This frustration carried over to the next day and combined with his tiredness to make this day especially miserable. In fact, this was also the worst weekday subject-wise, as well as one he hadn't done his homework for.

So it wasn't surprising that, when Roger tapped his shoulder and cackled about him being a nerd, Asher smashed his fist into Roger's face.

This was done in a momentary fit of rage and would otherwise not have happened. Mostly because Roger was the child of the prime minister..

Nevertheless, Roger's head jerked back. Ordinarily, his head would continue further. However, unfortunately, their location forbid this. They were standing on a raised platform at the top of a mini set of stairs. It just so happened that the bike-rack fence's top corner lined up quite nicely with Roger's head.

The back of his head smashed against the metal-capped corner and stayed there. A line of blood ran its way down the back of Roger's head and flowed onto his shaking back. The shaking came from his shock, as well as from his goose bump-inducing shrieks.

However, no matter how hard he shook, his head remained in place. The corner had wedged itself quite deeply into his skull – or more accurately – the skull had impaled itself quite deeply onto the corner.

As for why the corner was so sharp? Probably carelessness – the bike area was built as part of a 'green' initiative, more for publicity than anything else. The workers were well aware of this, hence the lack of thought.

The flow of blood was slowly increasing, but the metal did a good job blocking most of it, Roger's hair gluing most of the rest.

The teacher burst forth from the classroom next to them and started gasping for breath trying not to hurl at the sight.

More and more people gathered to watch the spectacle, their reactions differed between a slight discoloration of the face, to collapsing, to a surprisingly great number of non-reactions, most of which were girls. Or maybe that's just their make-up.

As for Asher? He was long gone. He knew he had royally screwed up, and as a veteran, he naturally knew what to do; bolt. His parents were hugely, influential after all. Asher would hide well and wait till his parents had smoothed the water enough that a simple apology from him would suffice.

Or so he hoped. This time would probably not be quite as smooth as that. If the prime minister intervened, it was hard to say what would happen to Asher.

However, Asher was simply focused on running now. He wasn't stupid and had long planned an escape route for such occasions, though this time was more bloody than what he had imagined such occasions to be.

As a school for the wealthy, it neighboured a large area of what was supposed to be a nature reserve. However, this had been curtly ignored by all who had, and were, using this land for whatever leisure or pleasure their hearts desired.

At this point, Asher slowed his sprint to a jog, as he traversed the narrow path between trees, avoiding most but not all of the exchanging hands, suspicious moans and other... thought provoking stimulants.

If the police were to come through here looking for him, they would have quite a fun time, no? Despite the situation, an amused smile crawled its way onto Asher's face.

Of course, he had also frequented such activities and was quite a popular guest of the various groups of the reserve, not in least part due to his wealth and spending habits.

After jogging for around 10 minutes, Asher reached a big tree not far from the parking lot. Reaching behind it, he grabbed hold of the lock and freed his motorcycle from its chains.

He also opened the casing that lay on the ground next to it and extracted all the equipment he would need; a helmet with dark visor, a leather coat; thickly padded inside, and a pair of boots 2 sizes too large with a 2cm plateau. All black.

Now, a strange person clad in black sat on the bike. At closer inspection, one would find the oddities of the clothing, but at first glance, everything seemed reasonable. This would do. Now, he would not be suspected of being too young to ride a motorbike. At least, not right away.

A second later, Asher already raced out of the parking lot and onto the quiet side street. After about a minute, he stopped again, removed the covers on the license plates and continued driving, just above the speed limit.

After 3 hours of more or less reckless, if not sloppy, rac-, no,  driving, Asher reached his very cosy 3rd home. This address was not only fully owned by himself, it even came equipped with fake owners, fake client details for the router and pretty much faked information anywhere it counted.

In short, even the prime minister could not find him here. At least, that's what Asher hoped.

He unlocked the door and pulled his bike beside him into the house, not minding the mud trail's greeting.

After leaning the bike on the wall next to the sofa, he disrobed himself of the biking gear and jumped on the sofa's cushion. Asher took out his phone, the newest model of course, connected it to the loudspeakers, maxed out the volume and threw on some 90's rock music. For now, just drown out the worries with music; there's still beer and spirits in the fridge, should his worries persist.